


Art in the time of Covid

by LaBelleIzzy



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Art, Artists, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27694180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaBelleIzzy/pseuds/LaBelleIzzy
Summary: Lardo's never felt this artistically blocked before 2020.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Check Please





	Art in the time of Covid

Largo grips her hair and pulls. So frustrating!

Never before this year has her creative muse fought her so hard. Never before have the paints refused to do what she asked. Never before has she felt so small and helpless in the face of something so much bigger than her.

"The best part of 2020 will be its ending, " she muttered, slamming art supplies down on the table.

She surrenders to the rage, the frustration, the sense of helplessness. "Covid can SUCK IT," she snarls.

She drags out one of her biggest canvases, grabs the red paint and a 45° angle paint brush.

Dipping the paintbrush into the paint can, she jumps up to reach the top left corner of the canvas and then drags the paintbrush down in diagonal jagged lines. Jamming it back into the can, she adds more jagged slashes until it almost looks like red claw marks over flesh with bleeding beginning underneath.

She blows out a breath. Scrapes off the paintbrush, throws it into the sink with the others to wash later. She backs up from the canvas, the initial force of her feelings expended, and looks critically at the beginning of her new art piece.

Lardo could see a sense of possibility coming out of this next clawed up canvas. 

Did she want to depict the destruction of things that had gone before? Did she want to think of Hope, and thoughts for the future? Or was this going to be a painting of the now, in this moment?

She's always wanted to be one of the people who lives in the moment. She tries. 

Taking a moment to look at what she's feeling, she finds her hands mixing colors on the palette, barely watching what she's blending. She changes brushes: adds new color near the red. More colors bloom on the canvas, uncertain of whether they're bruises, or if they're a rainbow. 

Backing away from the canvas, her eye falls on the clock. Two hours at least have passed since she started this, whatever it is. 

There's edges that look like flesh peeling back, and there's places that look like an oil slick. And there's that whole quarter of the canvas that looks like a misty meadow with flowers. She could call it a mess if she wanted to. She could call it a failure if she wanted to. 

She doesn't.

She signs it and dates it, and titles it: Art Block Broken.

**Author's Note:**

> I promised my friend Sydney at least 200 words of a story, and I can't get my fingernails under any of my current works in progress. So here's something new. 
> 
> This is inspired by a previous moment of art expression in my life when I couldn't express myself otherwise. I was more furious and less coherent than Lardo here. 
> 
> No betas we die like men apparently


End file.
